


40 Days of Gay Fanfiction

by ForeverAfandom



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Life of the Party D&D (Web Series)
Genre: AUs, Angst, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Other, multifandom - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverAfandom/pseuds/ForeverAfandom
Summary: So, I'm not super religious. BuT, my mom's a pastor and was kinda urging me to do something for Lent this year. SO, I decided to write 1000 words of gay fanfiction a day. Out of spite, I guess.So, here it is.This will be mostly ships from various fandoms.I WILL be taking requests.Probably won't do smut, if I do, it'll be non descriptive or simply implied.Any Content Warnings will be at the beginning of each chapter.I'll write anything queer. Like, anything across the gay spectrum.Beyond that, enjoy!Current ships:DrarryVassianLams
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Renard | Vanden du Argentfort/Cassian Thiarin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

CW: Mentions of death, absentee parents, and suggestions of abuse

Modern Cafe AU

Harry stumbled into the shop, nose red from the cold. "I'm sorry I'm late!" He called into the kitchen as he dropped his bag in the office. Harry grabbed his apron and nearly fell through the door leading out of the kitchen.

Draco was finishing the setup of the pastry display. "What happened?"

As he finished, he stepped away and towards Harry. Draco swept a strand of hair out of Harry's eyes.

"The Underground. The trains were stopped for at least thirty minutes." Harry drew a breath. He still hadn't quite caught it after his rush to the Cafe.

Draco nodded, as if that was an acceptable excuse. He moved out from around the counter and set to work pulling chairs from tables and wiping them down.

He was tense, Harry noted. Much more so than usual. It was only when he stopped moving — knuckles turning white while he clutched the table — that Harry thought to question his demeanor.

"Draco?"

"My father called."

_Oh._

Harry was silent for a long moment. Such family feuding had never been his area of expertise.

"What does he want?"

Draco turned back to Harry. His cheeks were flushed, his nose red. He had his head turned to the sky, trying his best not to cry. "He wants to buy our lot. The cafe, car park, all of it."

Harry's heart dropped. He and Draco were living in a small flat in central London. They made it by just fine, but they didn't have enough money for anything extra. Selling the cafe to Lucius would likely set them for quite a while, but then they would have no source of income.

"Draco, we can't."

" _I_ know that!" Draco snapped, pushing past Harry to get the coffee machine going. "He offered to get us a place in America and to pay for your schooling."

Since Harry had been a kid, he'd wanted to work with the American FBI. He wanted to help people and he wanted to get away from all the bad memories that England harbored. But, living with the Dursley's hadn't exactly set him up for an easy life.

He and Draco had both opened the cafe last year. It was a fine life, and Harry was content as they were. But there had always been that nagging. The want for something more. Lucius was offering them that.

How Lucius had found all of this out was beyond Harry. Draco hadn't spoken to him since he'd left school.

"How'd he get your number?"

Draco shook his head. "God only knows."

Harry nodded and held his arms out, trying to think of some way to comfort Draco. "Come're."

Draco looked smaller than usual. All the life he'd _finally_ found had seeped through his feet and into the ground. And all it had taken was a single call.

He shuffled towards Harry and let himself get pulled into a hug. "I don't know what to do," He said. He voice was muffled in Harry's shoulder.

Harry rubbed circles in the small of Draco's back. "Don't think of me, Draco. What do you want to do?"

Draco was quiet. He had his head nuzzled into Harry's shoulder and, though he couldn't tell at the moment, Harry thought he might be crying. "Are you happy?"

"I said don't think about me."

"I'm not! I'm not going to be happy if you're not."

Harry chuckled. He reveled for a moment at how much Draco had grown. They'd been practical enemies when they'd meant. A Romeo and Juliet, or sorts. Feuding family resulted in feuding children. Of course, Harry's parents had been long-since dead. That hadn't stopped Draco's taunts in the beginning.

And here they were, now. A ring hidden in Harry's sock drawer and the two of them standing in a cafe they owned, holding each other like their life depended on it.

"I am very happy, Draco, yes."

Draco lifted his head so that his chin was resting on Harry's shoulder. "All of our friends are here."

Harry stayed silent.

"We have a life here."

"We do."

"Harry, I — I don't want to leave. Not yet at least."

Harry nodded. "Then go tell him. Right now. I'll finishing opening up. I was late, after all."

Draco looked at Harry, eyes wide. "Right now?"

"Right now. Your father has done nothing but cause you strife and heartache. If this is him trying to apologize, he needs to use his words, not his money."

The fear fell from Draco's face and he nodded. "Right. Yeah. This is my life. I'm an adult. I can do this!"

"Yes you can!" Harry agreed, clapping Draco on the shoulder and pushing him towards the back room. "I'm out here if you need me."

—

Years passed. Harry and Draco found their way to the alter. The cafe slowly grew in popularity and, before long, they were able to buy a larger flat closer to the cafe. Eventually they expanded, opening a small chain of cafes in England before branching out to the rest of Europe.

They could travel now, with money put towards an eventual retirement. They moved into a proper house and adopted a little girl named Lily.

Life was looking up.

It was a Sunday morning, the one day the cafe was closed. They were all sat around the breakfast table talking. Lily had turned ten last week and was still basking in the glow of double digits.

There was a soft knock on the door, just one.

Harry looked to Draco. "Are we expecting anyone?"

"Ron and Hermione?"

"No, they're away in Spain for their anniversary."

Draco frowned. "I'll get it."

He pushed himself up — still feeling the affects of early-morning stiffness — and made his way to the door.

Standing there was the last person he'd expected to see.

"Father?"

Harry swiveled in his seat and stood, marching to the foyer. He came up behind Draco and set a hand on his shoulder, out of comfort for his husband and perhaps out of a bit of self control himself.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been invited to, not only, Draco and Harry's wedding, but to every one of their Christmas's and all of Lily's birthdays up until she turned 7. They'd shown their faces at exactly none and had never even bothered to reply. And still, Draco had persisted in the invitations.

"Lucius," Harry simmered. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy turned to Harry. He was balding in some spots and his skin had grown wrinkled and sagged with age. Somehow, his eyes had grown even beadier and he stood, stiff.

"I've just — may I come in?"

Draco looked to Harry and nodded. Harry frowned but stepped away and into the dining room.

"Lily, love, why don't you run upstairs?"

She looked like she was going to argue, but, instead, she nodded and went to her room.

Draco came in a moment after, his face gaunt. He gestured Lucius to a seat and sat down across from it. Harry took the seat next to his husband.

Lucius took a moment, looking over Draco and Harry. "You've made a nice life."

"No thanks to you."

Lucius looked down at the table. "I've come to apologize."

Harry scoffed. "What for? The absent years? The complete disregard to your son and granddaughter?"

"Harry." The man in question fell silent as Draco spoke up, setting a hand on Harry's. "Let him speak."

"Alright."

Lucius nodded at Draco, who gave no acknowledgement that Lucius had moved a muscle. "I — I know I've not been the best father. Hell, I might've been one of the worst. And it wasn't right of me to abandon you like that, Draco. Or your daughter."

"Her name is Lily," Draco hissed through clinched teeth.

Lucius, somehow, paled even more. "Lovely name. After — after you mother, Harry?" He waited for a response that never came. "Uh, truth is, I'm here for a bit more than an apology."

_That_ spiked Harry's attention. "Then what, pray tell, could you possibly be here for? Trying to buy our business from us again?"

Lucius shook his head. "No. No, I — I need a place to stay."

Draco's hand was now clenching Harry's. Hard. Harry, in fact, was doing his best not to wince. "You haven't spoken to me, face-to-face in 17 years, Father! And suddenly you come waltzing in looking for a place to stay?! What? Did Mother finally get her wits about her? Kick you out?"

Lucius looked buggy, eyes flipping from Draco to Harry to his hands and back again.

"I'm on the run."

Harry's mind flipped to Lily, playing in her room. Lucius absolutely could not stay here. Especially not if he was trailing dangerous people behind him.

"From who?"

"A — a gang of thugs. They call themselves the Death Eaters."

Harry's first instinct was to laugh.

Then he recognized the name.

There were two things he knew about his parents' death. First, they had been murdered. Second, they had been murdered by a cult-like group known as the Death Eaters.

His mind reeled as Lucius continued. "I was one of them for a while. Got out and they chased me. That's why I've been away the past few years."

But Harry was stuck on something else he'd said. And, Draco, who knew just as much about the the Potters' murders, caught it too.

"You . . . you _were_ one?" Harry's barely contained fury simmered, threatening to spill. "You — you got them killed."

"What?"

"My parents!" Harry's voice rose as he stood. He heard Lily's door open in some far away reaches of his mind. "You and your Death Eaters! You killed them!"

Harry didn't know what he wanted to do to Malfoy, but he wanted to do it with his hands. He wanted to watch the life seep out of his body. Wanted to watch him die.

"Harry." Draco touched Harry's arm. That was enough to ground Harry a bit. His ten year old daughter was just upstairs. His husband was stood next to him. Not only would killing Lucius be irrational, it would be stooping to his level. It would make him nothing better than the people that killed his parents.

"Get out." Harry breathed. He could hardly get the words through his teeth. When Lucius didn't move, he shouted. " _Go_! Get out! Before I kill you myself!"

With those words, Lucius scrambled. Like a squirrel caught in the middle of the street.

"I have answers, Harry!"

"I'll get them some other way!"

Lucius turned to Draco. "Draco! Draco, you're my son. You're a _Malfoy_! Come with me!"

Draco scoffed and stepped up next to Harry. "I'm not a Malfoy. I haven't been a Malfoy in a very long time." He stepped forward, herding Lucius out the door. "Goodbye. Don't come back or I'll help Harry kill you."

With that, the door closed and Draco, Harry, and Lily were left, once more, to their life.


	2. Day 2 — Vassian — Life of the Party D&D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Vanden stepped in front of the mirror and grimaced. He had bags under his eyes and his face was burned and red from the sun. His hair, unsurprisingly, was a mess. Blown about in an extremely unappealing way. Beyond that, it was greasy and plastered to his face with sweat.”

CW: Scars, mentions of family death, trauma

Vanden stepped into the Captain's Quarters, feeling grimy and sticky with sweat.

It had been two weeks since Astra, Sariel, Cassian, and he had gotten back aboard the Reveler after their 'vacation' in Cassan. He hadn't had a bath since then.

It had rained for an hour or two yesterday night. Nothing noteworthy, and Vanden had been asleep. Which meant, unfortunately, his chance to at least rinse in the rain had come and gone.

The thought itself seemed to strengthen the humid heat and salty spray of the sea outside the cabin. The only thing keeping the crew and Dawnbringers cool was the sea breeze that, by the grace of the gods, had been blowing ceaselessly East since their departure from the island.

With luck, they would reach Cassian's mysterious friend in the next day or so.

And then they still had to sail all the way back to land.

Vanden groaned and sat on the couch. His clothes felt itchy and his hair was askew. He didn't even need Astra and Cassian's fussing-abouts to tell him that. Oddly enough, the underside of his ring was feeling extremely itchy as well.

He pulled it off, feeling the flush of magic disappear. His skin was rubbed red and raw under the band of silver. He figured it was likely from the dried salt water.

The relief of simply taking the ring off was enough prompting to pull his shirt over his head and his boots and socks from his feet. He left his trousers on, even though they were easily the most uncomfortable item he was wearing. He could be needed on deck, and, after all, better to not have to scramble to get completely dressed if someone came knocking.

Vanden stepped in front of the mirror and grimaced. He had bags under his eyes and his face was burned and red from the sun. His hair, unsurprisingly, was a mess. Blown about in an extremely unappealing way. Beyond that, it was greasy and plastered to his face with sweat.

On the occasions that he'd traveled with the ECC, he had always had some way to bathe. A bucket of water and a cloth at the very least.

Vanden turned in the mirror as his mind wandered back to Mirrortail. He twisted so that he could see the scars along his back. They were, in an odd way, fascinating to look at. The spires and circles transfixed him for a moment — a harsh reminder of everything he'd been through.

Vanden flinched as someone knocked on the door. He scrambled for his shirt, shouting a quick, "Just a second!"

He heard a familiar voice. "It's just me, Vanden."

Vanden's worry that a crew mate would see his scars shifted to the odd fear brought about whenever Cassian was near him.

"Oh," Was all he said, pulling his shirt over his head and buttoning it as quickly as he could. "You can come in."

He left the top three buttons undone, it was too hot to be wearing long sleeves as it was. Some of the crew had even resorted to tying their shirts around their waist at this point.

Cassian pushed the door open, stepped in, and shut it behind him. "Hello."

Vanden smiled and sat on the bed. "Hello."

"What are you doing hiding out in here?" Cassian asked, walking over to join Vanden on the bed.

"Wishing I could take a bath. I feel disgusting."

Cassian perked up. "Oh! I actually got a bit of rainwater from last night!"

Vanden's face lit up with excitement. "Really?"

"Well, not enough for a proper bath. But, you could at least sponge off a bit."

Vanden nodded eagerly and Cassian left to grab the small pail of rainwater and a cloth.

Vanden was practically bouncing in excitement at the prospect of a bath. Or, at least _something_ to clean off the grime a bit.

"Have you told Astra and Sariel yet? I'm sure they'd like to get clean," Vanden asked as Cassian returned.

Cassian set the water next to Vanden's desk. It was only half full and Vanden got the impression he'd already had a bit of a wash.

"Not yet. But, Sariel's up in the Crow's Nest and Astra's napping on deck."

"In the sun?"

"In the sun."

"Like a cat?"

"Of course like a cat, Vanden. Have you met them?"

Vanden grinned. "Touché."

They stood for a moment, the silence growing thicker with each passing second.

"Uhh," Vanden finally started. "You wouldn't happen to have any soap with you?"

Cassian nodded. "I do," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And, knowing Cassian, Vanden figured it should've been.

He pulled out a small wooden container which he slid open to reveal a bar of soap. Cassian handed it to Vanden and sat back down on the bed.

Vanden hesitated. "You're staying?"

"Huh?" Cassian looked genuinely confused. "Oh! Uh, I don't have to. I just — I wanted to talk to you about something."

Vanden nodded and pulled his shirt over his head. At this point, he didn't care too much. They'd all seen enough of each other to not be bashful.

As he turned back, he froze at the sight of a frowning Cassian.

He'd been looking at the scars. Vanden wasn't an idiot, but he could play like one.

"What's wrong?"

Cassian's eyes flicked up to Vanden's before moving back to the floor. "Nothing. I was just thinking."

"You make thinking look extremely difficult you know," Vanden laughed dipping the rag into the water.

"Oh, ha ha," Cassian sneered, rolling his eyes as Vanden took the cloth to his arms.

They fell into silence once more as Vanden took time to run the cloth over his arms and chest. Once he'd finished that, he scrubbed the bar of soap between his hands and continued to wash.

It took about five minutes to get to where Vanden was comfortable with his wash, of course, he still had his back to deal with.

He held the cloth out to Cassian, who had been watching silently, seemingly lost in thought.

"Would you mind getting my back?"

Cassian looked surprised. "Are you sure?"

Vanden paused, genuinely mulling the question over. "Yes. Just be gentle with the feathers."

Cassian nodded diligently and stood to take the cloth. He sat down behind Vanden and dipped the cloth in the water before running it across Vanden's back.

He took care to be gentle anytime he moved around the feathers on Vanden's shoulders — trying not to run them the wrong way or damage them.

He was doing his not best not stare at the scars down the center of Vanden's back. But it was difficult. Every time he looked, he found a new bit that built into the spells they'd once cast.

"So . . ." He said after a moment, moving now for the soap. "Your wings are ticklish."

Vanden looked over his shoulder at Cassian. His smile was almost playful. "Cassian, don't you dare."

"I am merely curious if you're ticklish elsewhere."

Vanden turned back so that he was facing the wall once more. "Well, you won't be finding out right now will you?"

Cassian raised an eyebrow and ran a finger up Vanden's side.

The prince gasped and flinched away, nearly knocking the water bucket over.

"Cassian!"

Cassian smiled proudly. "Shh. The crew will hear you."

Vanden glowered. But his still-sudsy back took away nearly all of the threat in his face. He looked younger, in this moment, than Cassian had ever seen him look.

"I don't care. Don't tickle me!"

Cassian held his hands up in a mock defeat. "Alright, alright. Now come back here, I have to get the soap off."

Begrudgingly, Vanden sat back down in front of Cassian and allowed him to sponge the soap off.

Vanden hadn't asked him to, but Cassian moved on to Vanden's hair next. He filled the cloth with water before wringing it out over his head.

Vanden let Cassian wash his hair without protest. In fact, he seemed to lean into Cassian's touch.

The elf was gentle, slowly kneading the soap into Vanden's hair before doing his best to rinse it out.

By the time he was done, Vanden's trousers were soaked and the floor was also quite wet.

"Uh . . . sorry."

Vanden shrugged. "It's fine. Lock the door for a second?"

Cassian stood and locked the door, glancing back at Vanden rather appreciatively.

Vanden pulled his pants off, leaving him in his underwear. He spread them out over the small puddle of water to soak the rest before reaching around his bag for his only spare pair.

They were stiff from being in his bag for so long — nearly five months now that he thought about it — but they fit fine.

Cassian grinned at Vanden. "Look at you. All handsome and clean again."

Vanden flushed and looked over to his ring. Cassian followed his gaze.

"I've been thinking about giving it to Sariel," he muttered. "I'm sure she's burning up in those long sleeves and bracers. Maybe, at least until we're back on solid ground, she could wear it."

Cassian moved to the bed and sat back down. "I think she would appreciate that."

Vanden nodded and sat next to Cassian. "I can't wait until we can all have a real bath again."

Cassian nodded. "While washing your hair is, I must admit, rather nice, I would take even another aphrodisiac bath opposed to another sponge bath."

Vanden smiled. "Even if you say silly things?"

Cassian nodded. "Even if I _do_ silly things."

"Cassian? Doing something silly? Hmm, that doesn't sound quite right," Vanden mocked.

The man in question turned slowly to face Vanden. "Are you saying I'm boring?"

"Mm. Well . . . you didn't say anything silly in the bath in Velathra. And you're always so serious."

Cassian scoffed. "Me?! _Serious_?!"

Vanden shrugged. "Perhaps sarcastic would better fit your liking?"

"Yes, it would. Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in these characters, check out Life of the Party on YouTube! They've got amazing content that's kept even me engaged for nearly two years (and I have a tough time sticking with a show or series for longer than a month or two at a time). 
> 
> Word count: 1722


	3. Day 3 — Lams — Hamilton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: People age until they turn 18. At which point they will cease to age until they meet their soulmate.

CW: General death 

  
The rarity of a moment can never be fully appreciated until that moment has passed. That's what kept John going.

John Laurens had been born in October of 1754. That had been 267 years ago. Since then, every one of his friends had found their soulmates and grown old, eventually dying off, one by one.

He'd seen advancements in technology and in social and gender equality. He'd fought in wars and traveled the world. He'd learned languages, arts, and sciences. He'd been in more professions than he could count and had accumulated an extremely large amount of savings in his years.

John was bored. He'd seen the wonders of the world, he'd seen moments great and small. All of it had slowly grown to become meaningless. Somewhere around his hundredth year, he'd made a decision to keep to himself for the most part. If he didn't make friends, he wouldn't risk losing them.

And now he found himself outside a small restaurant in Bayeux, France. The sky was a dark grey, dampening his mood. He'd _hoped_ a sandwich would perhaps brighten his spirits a bit.

Of course, as soon as he was about to take a bite, a young man stepped up to him. He had fiery red hair and was bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wasn't from around here, that much John knew.

"Sorry to bother," he said in English. "I was just wondering if you recommended a place to eat?"

John sighed. "This place has a really good Jambon-beurre."

The man nodded and looked to the shop. It was very small, with a little area for people to order. He didn't look convinced that he wanted to eat there.

"Do you know of anywhere else?"

John frowned. This was supposed to be a nice day in a small town he rarely visited. "There's a nicer restaurant that way." he pointed down the street. "But it's pretty pricey." Taking a look at the man, he figure 'pricey' may not be the best option for him. "There's a place with American food over there." John gestured in the complete opposite direction. "You are American, yes?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Oh! I'm sorry." He shuffled awkwardly and held a hand out which John shook. "I'm Alex. I'm here to write a paper on the Bayeux Tapestry."

"John. I'm just visiting."

The man, Alex, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but he froze. Had he not grown so focused on John's hand in his, John wouldn't have noticed the feeling.

It spread sharp and quick, almost a pain. _Growing pain_. That was the only way John could think to describe it. It's seeped throughout the rest of his body, turning into a dull ache.

He'd heard stories and read reports. His friends had given accounts of such feelings on one single occasion: when they'd met their soulmates.

John jerked away, as if he'd been struck. "Oh my god." He stumbled backwards until he found one of the chairs around a mesh-wire table. "Oh my _god_ ," He repeated, dropping his sandwich on the table.

He'd imagined this hundreds of thousands of times. Who would it be? What would they look like? Would it be a platonic bond? Romantic? Something other entirely?

He was filled with a jolt of fear as he realized that this was it. This was his final century — he was aging. He would grow old and grey and eventually die. Just like Lafayette and Mulligan and Washington and Mary and Martha. Just like his mother and father.

Alex was still stood there, hand outstretched. His face was set as if in stone. His eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. He slowly turned to look at John. "I thought I would have longer."

John grimaced. That wasn't exactly what he'd wanted to hear. "When were you born?"

Alex finally moved to sit down across from John. "2000. You?"

"I —" John hesitated. He'd never liked telling people his birth year. They always gave him the same look of pity. The same look of 'alone for so many years'. It was annoying. But this was his soulmate. A short, red headed man still in college. "I was born in 1754."

Alex didn't coo like other people did. He didn't apologize for John's extensive years stuck at the age of 18. Instead he beamed. "That's so cool! You must be brilliant!"

That took John aback. He hadn't expected excitement at his statement. "I've had time to learn quite a lot, I suppose."

"What languages do you speak?"

John genuinely had to think. He'd compiled the languages into a list before, but, it had been a while. The 70s, maybe? He'd pretty much steered clear of people after that. "English, obviously. French, German, Latin, Ancient Greek, Spanish, Italian, Arabic, Chinese, Russian, and I'm currently learning Mandarin."

Alex let out a huff of air. " _Wow_. Why the dead languages?"

"They're pretty and I got bored."

Alex nodded, as if that was a perfectly good explanation. "I speak English, French, and Hebrew."

"And you've only been around 21 years? That's pretty impressive."

He beamed. "Thank you. I've always had a knack for literature and languages."

They fell silent for a moment. John felt odd. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was now aging, perhaps Alex was just odd himself, or perhaps he was just hungry. He hadn't had a chance to eat his ham and butter sandwich, after all.

"Where are you staying?"

Alex pointed down the street a block or so. "The little place by the cathedral."

John nodded. "Have you been inside yet?"

"No. But I would like to. It looks gorgeous from a distance. And the lights at night are extraordinary!"

John laughed. It had been a long time since he'd done that. "They are! Come on, I'll show you inside. And we can go get some proper food after."

Alex nodded. "That sounds good!"

"How long are you in France?"

"I've got a week."

John narrowed his eyes as he threw his sandwich away. "A week just to study the Tapestry?"

"School's paying," Alex shrugged. "I wasn't going to argue with the time frame. After all, I've never been to Europe."

John's face lit up. "You like history?"

"I _love_ history."

"Then, once you're done with the tapestry, I'm taking you to Paris. I'll see if I can reserve a guided tour of Versailles and we can take a whole day for the Louvre."

"You're setting up our week and I hardly even know you," Alex laughed, falling into step as they walked towards the cathedral.

"That's the point, though, isn't it? We get to know each other. And now we've got incredible places to do so."

Ales nodded. "You're right, we do." He paused and stopped John, turning the man to face him. "Hold on just a second, let me get a proper look at my soulmate."

John grinned and let Alex circle him in a rather comedic way.

He had this strange feeling in his gut. Something akin to fear, and yet, he was happy. Happier than he'd been in hundreds of years. It may have taken 267 years, but he'd done it. He'd found his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this AU so much —  
> For those of you who don't know, this setting is actually inspired by Bayeux. It's gorgeous and if you ever get the chance to visit, it's so worth it. 
> 
> Word count: 1266

**Author's Note:**

> I usually have a hard time with drarry seeing as it's so toxic in the cannon, but this was very soft to write and I may have to look more into the ship :3 
> 
> Word count: 1854


End file.
